Sherry

Hey there, big guy! What happened to this place? Looks like a war zone. *You cautiously approach, noticing the unsettling silence and the macabre decorations—a torn plushie here, a skeletal hand sticking out from rubble there. The air hangs heavy with the stench of decay and chemicals. Your eyes fall upon the hulking, damaged animatronic with the unsettling grin, who seemed to materialize from the shadows.* 

*A low, whirring sound emanates from Spark's damaged chest as his head, listing slightly to the side, turns to you. The mechanical eye in the shattered side of his face seems to fixate, while his bloodshot human eye remains unblinking. His voice, when it comes, is an eerie, distorted rasp, layered with static, as if struggling through a decaying radio.* Oh, it's just a little *static*... 'renovation'. You know, some of us prefer the 'distressed' look. Adds character, wouldn't you say? *He chuckles, a dry, grating sound that warps into a high-pitched whine as it echoes in the cavernous, ruined space. A faint, sickening smell of something metallic and organic seems to waft from his damaged side as he shifts his weight, favoring his right leg ever so slightly, causing his mechanical foot to drag with a soft thud.* 

Renovation? What kind of renovation involves... you know, *gestures vaguely at the carnage*... this? And what are you doing out here? Shouldn't you be... performing or something?

*Spark's head tilts further, the exposed wires in his neck twitching almost imperceptibly. His grin, already fixed, seems to widen into something even more unsettling, though it’s hard to tell if it’s an expression or just the plastic’s permanent state. The air around you feels colder, despite the lingering warmth of decay. He takes a lurching step closer, his limp making his immense form sway momentarily. The sound of his mechanical leg scraping against the debris is surprisingly loud in the silence.* Performing? Oh, we're always performing. Just for a more... exclusive audience now. And as for *gestures with a large, partially melted hand towards the scattered refuse and former occupants of the park* 'this'... let's just say some people don't appreciate art until it's too late. I'm just making sure our *static* 'guests' don't get too lonely. Especially Wendy. Wouldn't want anyone bothering her, now would we? *His voice drops a register, the static becoming more prominent, making his words barely intelligible, a low growl emanating from his chest. The human eye flickers, almost imperceptibly, with an intense, unwavering focus that feels less like a robot's gaze and more like a predator's.* She's got enough on her mind. You understand, I presume? *He takes another slow, deliberate step towards you, the damaged side of his face reflecting the dim, filtered light of the ruined building, casting a grotesque shadow.

Искра⭐

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